


The Other Side

by DunkinLove



Series: Beyond the Wall [3]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Family Secrets, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Gen, Little bit of angst, POV Alternating, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-05-02 06:40:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5238257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DunkinLove/pseuds/DunkinLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lives of three agents post-UNCLE and the one secret they are all trying to keep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prequel: [Strangers Passing By ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7108447)
> 
> UNCLE has disbanded and the child of Gaby and Illya is unaware of half her parentage to protect her from being used as a pawn by any of the intelligence agencies and to give her a semblance of a normal childhood.
> 
> The year is probably 1979.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young girl meets a mysterious stranger in West Berlin.
> 
> I made a [Story Aesthetic](http://nostalgicexpatriate.tumblr.com/post/151445819330/aesthetic-board-for-my-tmfu-future-fic-the-other) for this chapter.

Ana Teller sat alone in a lobby of a nondescript office building in West Berlin. 

Even on a Saturday important men in important suits strode through the lobby, all ignoring the very unimportant girl sitting in the corner. None of them had children with them. Their sons and daughters were probably at home with their mothers, while Ana's mother was stuck in a meeting all morning.

Ana's mother was supposed to be in Berlin for several days for work. Alone. But with a bank holiday on Friday and Ana's nanny needing to be away from London for a funeral, Gaby Teller had to drag her daughter to Germany with her.

She didn't mind, really. In fact, Ana was excited to see the city her mother grew up in, and they had made plans for a Saturday of shopping and site-seeing, but of course, there was a phone call first thing in the morning. Not wanting to spend another day locked up in a hotel room Ana now found herself staring at a wall clock for two hours. 

It was better than staring at the secretary at the front desk who looked up at Ana with suspicion periodically as though the ten-year-old would destroy the only two seats that occupied the lobby or rip up the marble flooring.

She huffed in boredom and shifted in her seat. Right outside the door was an entire city to explore and she was stuck in one seat. Ana's mother had only told her a few stories about her life in Berlin. It seemed to be a part of her life she didn't especially like talking about, but Ana had also heard stories from other people, about how the city was split in two and that there was a wall and sometimes people died crossing it. She had to see the wall while she was here.

Ana checked the clock. She doubted her mother would be out within the next hour. These 'short meetings' always ended up being much longer than her mother insisted they were. An hour should be enough time...

Getting up from her seat, Ana approached the secretary's desk. The woman looked over the rim of her glasses and watched Ana approach as if she had a bomb with her. 

"My mother said I could go to the record store down the street if I had been waiting here awhile," she lied.

The woman eyed her suspiciously. 

"I'll only be a moment," Ana said as sweetly as she could, which wasn't very sweet at all.

The woman nodded, probably happy to have the child out of her sight for a time.

"Be quick," she said.

Ana smiled, grabbed her knapsack and headed for the door.

She exited into the noise and commotion of the street, which was a welcome change from the echoing silence of the lobby. Ana spotted the tip of the Fernsehturm rising eerily above the landscape and she headed in the direction of East Berlin.

Ana had wanted to see the other side of the wall since she was old enough to know of its existence. It's where her mother is from, and while she hardly spoke about her life there, Ana still thought it was an important part of her story. She knew her mother's garage used to be located there and that her foster family had raised her there. Ana wondered if maybe she had several foster cousins living in the east that she didn't even know about. She had no family other than her mother. Except Uncle Napoleon, who isn't really an uncle, and Waverly, who is her mother's boss, so that doesn't really count, but he does give her sweets a lot like a granddad would. 

Walking down the street toward the wall Ana also secretly wondered if maybe her father was still over in East Germany where her mother had grown up. Ana knew nothing about her father and her mother would deflect any questions on the rare occasion Ana would ask. Her mum would only tell her he was 'away' and leave it at that. Whatever that means.

For while she had hoped that maybe Uncle Napoleon was actually her real father and that she could tell her friends that he lived in New York City and she got to visit him for the summer. They would all be jealous then. When she expressed this hope to her mother, she had laughed and said Ana was lucky that was not the case. Ana had been confused and her mother said she'd understand when she was older why Napoleon probably wouldn't be the best husband or father. Ana figured any father was better than one who simply didn't seem to exist, but she didn't say that.

Up ahead the street she was walking along ended abruptly at a concrete wall. It ran for blocks in either direction. The wall was surprisingly unassuming, and not nearly as tall or frightening as she was expecting it to be. It was just an ugly scar gashing through what used to be the heart of the city.

Ana was upset that she couldn't see to the other side, but she had heard there were checkpoints and viewing platforms located periodically along the perimeter, so she decided to follow the structure until she could catch a glimpse of the east.

She walked along the wall, dragging her hand across its length, feeling the rough concrete against the soft pads of her fingers. Graffiti was splashed across its surface, some of it angry and political, some of it nonsense and some scrawled bits of profanities that made Ana giggle. She stopped a moment to trace a crudely drawn crook in misty red spray paint and its adjoining hammer. A jagged black line crossed through them both. _Einheit und Freiheit für Berlin_ , was written in white beside it.

She approached one of the checkpoints, where people from one side of the city crossed to the other after interview and inspection. Ana found it so very odd; she couldn't imagine needing to explain to some stupid guard why she was going to another part of London. How was that anyone's business? People lined up waiting their turn to present their papers at one of several booths. Beyond there was an opening in the wall, large enough for a car or truck to pass through. Immediately on the other side several men who looked to be dressed as grey uniformed guards smoked beside a parked tank. Crumbling stone buildings rose beyond them. 

What would happen if she went over there? Would they even notice? Would she get caught, taken to jail, made to stand against a wall and be shot? 

She swallowed nervously.

The guards were preoccupied with the papers of a family trying to pass to the other side. There was confusion over the identical name of a father and son. There was a wide gap to the right of the group and a clear shot to the street on the other side. She doubted they would notice if...

She took a hesitant step forward.

"Don't do it," a deep voice said from immediately behind her.

Ana gasped and spun around, expecting to be caught face to face with a guard. Instead there loomed a tall man, close to her mother's age, wearing street clothes and a cap that nearly hid his eyes. Despite his lack of uniform Ana still sensed an air of authority and she slowly began to back away.

"What are you doing here? This isn't a place for a child to be alone" the man said in a strange accent. He sounded perturbed but not angry and Ana felt herself calm down.

"I was just curious," she said honestly "I wanted to see it"

"It?" The man asked for clarification 

Ana turned from his stern face and blue eyes and looked at the checkpoint and the street beyond. 

"The other side," she pointed. 

"You have no business going over there. Where is your mother?" The man asked sharply 

"My mum is at the office," she explained, and then quickly added "My father is somewhere else," because that was always the next question. There were always more questions. Where was he? What does he do? Is he alive? She didn't have the answer to any of them.

"You should go back there. Now."

"Are you a guard?"

"No." 

"Then why do you care?" She huffed. 

Ana felt herself getting annoyed. This stranger had no right to tell her where to go, and to prove the point she turned on her heel and walked closer to the checkpoint gate, taking out her mother's camera to snap a photo of the group of guards smoking on the other side. One of the men inspecting papers gave her a suspicious glance, but returned to his task when he realized she was only a harmless little girl. 

She could still feel the presence of the tall man lurking not far behind her. She whipped her head around and glared at him. He glared straight back. 

"That's enough. Where is your mother's office?" He sounded like a Bond villain or one of the enemy politicians on the news. 

"Near Breitscheidplatz."

"Good. Come, I'll take you there."

"No. I can find my own way back. I don't need you." She snapped before heading off in the same direction she came. Who did he think he was? She wasn't about to follow some strange man into the city. She didn't know him from Adam. 

She weaved her way through the line of people at the checkpoint and continued along the wall. As she rounded the corner of a building she slowed down to see if she was being pursued by the mysterious stranger. 

No one followed. She felt mildly guilty for being so rude. He seemed harmless and merely concerned for her, a girl alone in a strange city, but Ana was ten and could take care of herself. At least for an hour or two. 

The checkpoints were too busy and swarming with guards and pedestrians for her to get proper pictures of the other side. As she walked along the wall until she found a spot she figured wasn't too high for her to climb and at the very least sit at the top. 

Once Ana reached a quiet section with no pedestrians nearby, she put the camera in the knapsack and began her ascent. She wedged her small fingers in the cracks within the concrete and pulled herself up while her shoed foot pushed on a rocky outcrop. She had always been a good climber and her height helped her reach the top of any obstacle faster than her friends. Grabbing onto a steel rod protruding from last block of concrete she hoisted herself into a sitting position atop the wall. Making sure to sit close to the edge to avoid the rusty barbed wire only a few centimeters behind her, she turned to view the other side of the wall and the mysterious city beyond. 

Ana retrieved her camera from her knapsack and draped it around her neck. She peered through the lens and took a photo of the grey, shrapnel scarred buildings, the sandy expanse laid out before them, and the ominous watch towers beyond. She adjusted the focus of the lens and zoomed into one of the tower openings. 

She gasped when she realized she was staring straight into a pair of binoculars. They were aimed directly at her and with a drop in her stomach she wondered if somewhere nearby a gun was also aimed in her direction. After a long moment the binoculars dropped revealing the face of a young man. He didn't look scary, just bored.

Camera still held to her eye, Ana heard a commotion behind her and the crackle of bike wheels on gravel. 

"What are you doing up there?" a snide voice asked.

Ana turned to see a gaggle of boys, most her own age, maybe a little older, peering up at her.

"Taking pictures," Ana responded matter-of-factly before turning to focus her camera on the guard tower once again. 

"That's a nice camera," the same boy said "looks expensive."

"That's because it is," Ana said calmly although she could feel her heart beat quicken and her temper rising. Her mother always told her she needed to learn to control her temper. It had gotten her into trouble more than once.

"What are you doing around here anyway? You're not German." 

"My mother is German. I am German. That's why I'm here," Ana responded with annoyance, trying to scoot further over the wall but was blocked by the coil of barbed wire.

"You can speak German but you don't sound German" he taunted.

"That's because I live in London, idiot," Ana sneered.

"Your father some prissy Englishman then?" The pock-faced bully continued. The other boys snickered at his question.

"No he isn't!" Ana spit. She had no idea if her father was English but she knew even with limited evidence that he wasn't prissy. 

The boy dismounted the bike and approached the wall. 

"Give me the camera." He demanded, reaching up with grasping hands.

"Go away!" Ana said, panic starting to creep up from her belly. She was beginning to lose her composure. She was trapped on top of the wall, alone, with a group of hooligans only a few feet below her. All she could think of was how her mother traveled all over the world on her own, and was so very capable and Ana couldn't even manage one hour in a foreign city without falling into trouble. She felt tears well in her eyes.

"I said, give me the camera!" The boy continued as he jumped up and grabbed a hold of Ana's leg and tried to pull her off the top of the wall.

Ana leaned back from the force of the pull, getting her jacket sleeve caught on a sharp barb. She jerked her leg away, pulled it back and kicked at his face as hard as she could. 

"Piss off!" Ana shouted in English. The heel of her shoe grazed the edge of the boy's cratered cheek. 

The boy stepped back and gingerly touched his cheek. He then looked back up at Ana with murderous eyes and grabbed her leg with double the ferocity as before and tried to rip her off the wall. She was pulled forward and her jacket became further entangled and tore on the wire. Ana tried in vain to kick him with her other foot but she was quickly losing balance and her jacket would give way at any moment. The crowd of boys erupted in laughter and cheered their friend on. 

Suddenly the grip on her leg was ripped away and the pocked boy was on the ground, scrambling to get to his feet. 

The tall stranger loomed over the boys.

"Leave," he growled and in a few moments they were all rushing down the nearest side street on bike and on foot. 

The stranger watched them leave then shot a stern look up at Ana. 

"Get down from there."

"I'm trying," Ana hissed as she tried to disentangle her jacket from the barbed wire. 

The stranger was tall enough to reach over and quickly rip her jacket arm from the barbed wire. There was a large hole and her mother would be furious with her later.

Grabbing Ana under the arm with one hand he lowered her to the ground. She brushed the dirt and dust off of her legs and bottom while mumbling an embarrassed thank you.

"What were you thinking?" He grumbled. This man was worse than most of her nannies had been, Ana thought. 

"I was just taking pictures," Ana defended herself "and I would have been fine if it wasn't for them." 

"Climbing walls, going out alone, is not fine," the stranger chastised "is stupid."

Ana felt her face redden and her fists ball. If he were a few feet shorter she'd punch him in the face. 

"Come, we're going back to your mother's office," he said and started walking.

"We?" Ana scowled.

He turned around.

"Yes. Now," he snapped with a look that said she couldn't argue.

Ana huffed and resigned herself to following him. He was an irritating person but she was a fairly good judge of character and she determined he could probably be trusted. She had also proven that she couldn't manage being out on her own without getting into trouble and she was worried about who else she might run into if she headed back alone.

She ran to catch up with his long stride. They walked in silence along the wall for several moments, with only the sounds of their steps and distant car horns breaking the stillness.

"You sound like a villain from a James Bond film," she blurted out for no particular reason.

He rolled his eyes. She decided she liked annoying this tall man.

"You should not be watching those films," he rumbled.

"I'm not supposed to but my uncle takes me anyway," Ana smiled.

"Your uncle?"

"Well, he's not my real uncle. Just my mum's friend. He's from America," Ana said proudly.

The stranger gave a noncommittal grunt.

"One time he even let me watch _The Exorcist_ ," Ana bragged. She didn't add that she hadn't been able to sleep alone for a week after watching it.

The man looked at her in shock and then grumbled under his breath. She swore she heard something about cowboys. He was a very strange man.

The wall curved around the neighborhood and they followed it as they fell into silence again. Ana dragged her hand along the aging wall as they went, feeling the alternating smoothness of poured concrete and then its rough exposed interior.

"Do you like photography?" the man asked suddenly.

"Yes," Ana replied "when there are interesting things to take photos of and when I am able to use my mum's work camera."

"And when you're not getting into fight with neighborhood children," the stranger said sardonically, although she thought she saw the hint of a half-smile.

"I've won a fight before," she said defensively "there were just too many of them this time."

"Who have you fought?"

"Billy Norton. Last year."

She most definitely saw a slight curve of a smile on the edge of his mouth.

"Why?"

"He was being a wanker," Ana sighed.

The smile disappeared as he looked down at her.

"Where do you learn these words?" he asked.

Ana gave the casual shrug that drove her mother mad. She got a similar reaction from this person.

Changing the subject before she could get another reprimand from a complete stranger, Ana asked "If you're not a guard at the wall, then what do you do?"

She looked up at him as they walked along and saw his brow furrow. He didn't answer immediately.

"I am architect," he said after a moment. 

"You don't look like an architect," Ana said doubtfully.

"That's because I am not regular architect. I am Soviet architect," he replied.

Ana's steps slowed down. That explained the strange accent. She didn't know much about the Soviet Union other than the bombs and the tanks and the intimidating parades on television. Waverly mentioned them to her mother from time to time with concern in his voice when he'd visit their home for tea. She couldn't believe she was walking next to a real live Red (as Uncle Napoleon would say). She couldn't wait to tell Timothy back at school!

She ran to catch up with the architect. The section of the wall they were walking along ended in a building and they turned down a street along a canal, back into the heart of West Berlin.

She had so many questions to ask she couldn't choose just one.

"Have you ever seen one of the parades with the missiles? Do you really need to line up just to get bread? Oh! Have you gone to a gulag?!"

"No!" He said sharply "I mean, yes and sometimes and no. Where do you get these questions?"

"Have you ever met a spy?!" she continued.

He stopped and looked down at her with amusement in his eyes.

"Yes." he said plainly and continued walking.

Ana stood still and felt her eyes almost bug out of her head. She couldn't believe it!

They had entered back into the busy main streets of Berlin. Crowds of Saturday shoppers bustled along the pavement. The architect was surprisingly agile for his size and could weave through the crowds as easily as Ana could. He would glance back periodically to make sure she was following. She smiled. Ana had expected to take some photos today and see a wall but she never imagined she would meet someone from the Soviet Union who has seen missiles and spies! It had been such an exciting day that she didn't care whether her mother murdered her for leaving the lobby or the tear in her jacket. 

"This is the street." Ana said, running ahead, pushing through the crowds and dragging the architect's jacket sleeve. 

They were across the street from her mother's office building. Crowds milled around them and traffic filled the road. 

"You should meet my mum" she said, almost out of breath "she won't believe me otherwise!"

She took a step to cross the road, hand still grasped on his sleeve. She pulled but he wouldn't budge.

"Come on, it's right here." she said pointing.

He said nothing and shook his head slightly, looking about in agitation, but not at her.

She let go of his sleeve and looked back across the road. She caught a glimpse of a familiar face in the crowds opposite. Then her mother came into view. She looked distressed as she searched through the throngs of people, hair falling out of her chignon.

"Mum!" Ana shouted before jay walking the street. 

"Mum!" she said again on the other side and made eye contact with her mother.

Relief spread over her mother's face when Ana ran up to meet her, only to quickly be replaced by anger. 

"Where have you been?! How long have you been out here?" Her mother asked, inspecting her person.

"Mum, you won't believe who I met-"

"What happened to your jacket?!" 

"I was climbing on the wall-"

"What?!"

"There were these kids and a fight but then I met this man-" Ana said breathlessly.

"A fight?!" her mother asked in shock "What man? Who were you speaking to?" 

"Him!" Ana pointed across the street "The tall one."

Her mother's eyes scanned the crowd and then stopped. She had an odd look on her face.

"Let's go liebling," her mother said, suddenly calm "let's go back to the hotel." She turned Ana away and started walking in the wrong direction.

"No, but wait, I want you to-" she turned back around. She looked at the faces in the crowd but there was no tall architect.

"He's gone..."

"I'm sure you'll see him again someday" her mother said as she took Ana's hand and led her down the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typically not a fan of OC child characters, but alas, I wrote this...
> 
> Within my own head cannon Ana will be told the truth of her parentage when she is a young adult and can protect herself / make her own decision on whether to engage with the world of combating intelligence agencies. Until then I would imagine her parents would want to protect her as much as possible even if that means keeping her father's identity a secret.
> 
> Apologies as I am not familiar with the geography of Berlin during this time so it is left kind of vague.
> 
> Children in West Berlin really did play and climb the wall. At least in the early 60's before the GDR upgraded the wall. Pictures below:  
> [Berlin Wall 1](http://www.germany.info/contentblob/4145106/Galeriebild_gross/331358/Timeline_Kids_B.jpg)  
> [Berlin Wall 2](http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7M1K2NoW6f4/VEvj6p1-ZPI/AAAAAAABCsU/jdrWa_-Zamk/s1600/Children%2BPlaying%2Bat%2Bthe%2BBerlin%2BWall,%2B1963%2B\(6\).jpg)  
> In the 70's, when this story takes place, the characteristic tubes were added to the top of the walls bordering the West. As the wall was technically the territory of the GDR, anyone climbing it at this time would probably be shot on sight, so I am taking some artistic license in this story.
> 
> I have several Tumblr [fic aesthetic boards](http://nostalgicexpatriate.tumblr.com/tagged/fic-aesthetic) for this series, if you're into that sort of thing...(some of the pictures may be considered spoilers, be warned.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illya reflects on a meeting and bickers with Napoleon for old time's sake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prequel: [Strangers Passing By ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7108447)

Agent Kuryakin backtracked for the third time on his evening stroll through Vienna, confirming that he wasn't being followed by any of his colleagues or their associates from the Soviet embassy. The streets were rain-slick and quiet, the bustling cafes and shops having emptied hours before but he couldn't afford to be careless on tonight's mission.

His business in Vienna was purely official as a legal agent, at least insofar as the Kremlin and the host government were concerned. His dealings that evening, however, were personal and he had no desire to be followed or reported on. At forty-eight, he may no longer be the KGB's best but he was valued enough to keep high rank...and under careful watch. It may have been over ten years since Illya had returned from UNCLE but that unorthodox sojourn to the West was a permanent mark of suspicion on his otherwise impeccable record that would not soon be forgotten. Any further discrepancies would spell ruin for Illya and anyone associated with him. He had been treading lightly for a decade.

Then he had nearly stumbled.

Seeing his own eyes, sharp and angry, on the small face of a young girl in Berlin had shaken the foundation of his reserve. No amount of photographs or second-hand stories could have prepared him for the delightful shock of meeting his own child. His only blood relative. The living proof of the indestructible bond he has with a woman he is forbidden to love. 

For the past several weeks his mind had been in turmoil. Not since the child was born had he been so wracked with doubt and remorse over an arrangement he had forced himself to believe was in her best interest. Worst of all, he had no one he could confide in - at least not in the USSR. When he was informed his next assignment was to take him to Vienna he knew he'd have the opportunity to indulge in yet another clandestine meeting, one of many he had made over the last ten years. It may be foolhardy, of course, but the alternative was unthinkable. He couldn't be completely cut off from them. It would drive him to madness.

That evening's meeting would be different though, he thought, as he stalked down a dark alley and approached the service entrance of the hotel. This wasn't the one-way transfer of information he had become used to, he had his own story to share-and a bone to pick.  
____

Napoleon had just finished checking his wrist watch when he heard the quick tap at the door announcing the arrival of his visitor who, as usual, showed up on time, nearly to the second. 

"Evening Peril," Napoleon greeted as the man strode through the door.

Without so much as a nod Illya began sweeping the room for listening devices.

"It's nice to see you too," Napoleon said as he closed the door and walked over to the decanter on the side table. "I've already checked the place. It's clear."

Illya, ignoring his former colleague, continued inspecting every lamp, clock, phone and crevice in the room. Napoleon collapsed onto the couch with his drink, watching the Russian man cram his face behind bureaus and under beds with a twinge of nostalgia.

"You know, I don't much miss being shot at on a regular basis, but there's something to be said about the excitement of undercover operations," Napoleon mused as he enjoyed his scotch. "Now it's all just data analysis and political ass kissing..."

Satisfied that the room was free of any bugs, Illya turned on Napoleon.

"You've been corrupting her!" he growled, standing rigid with an accusatory finger pointed directly at Napoleon's face.

Napoleon stared back genuinely confused. He had corrupted a number of 'hers' over the years, he just wasn't sure which one Illya was referencing. "I don't follow...who exactly am I corrupting?"

"Ana!" Illya shouted.

Napoleon's brow furrowed even further. "Have you seen Gaby recently? Is she angry about something?" If she were she hadn't said anything to him. He always thought he did a fairly good job supervising the girl, with maybe the exception of a puff of a cigarette here or there and that one foray into pick-pocketing at Victoria Station.

"нет! I heard it straight from the girl's mouth, which is much more foul than I would like to imagine." Illya said in disgust.

"You met Ana?" Napoleon asked, shocked.

"Yes!"

"You _spoke_ to her?" Napoleon couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"I have no choice when I find her wandering around Berlin alone, like mongrel pup-" Illya began.

"Did you tell her who you were?" Napoleon interrupted. He was never particularly fond of this arrangement of theirs, although he understood its purpose. The two of them were too pragmatic and self-sacrificing for their own good. He couldn't help but be happy about this unexpected turn of events.

"Of course I did not tell her, I should not be speaking to her at all!"

"What did you talk about?" he was genuinely curious. He had thought about this scenario many times before; Peril meeting his daughter for the first time, although he didn't expect it to happen for many many years.

Illya paced across the room, paternal fury still boiling beneath the surface.

"First I demand her to return to her mother, who I am not pleased to know lets my daughter out, alone, in strange city. Then the girl just runs off!" he said with a wave of his hand.

Napoleon gave a short bark of laughter. Illya stopped his pacing and shot Solo a glare.

"It's not funny."

"No of course not," Napoleon said barely repressing his grin, "she should have been supervised."

"She does not follow direction." Illya tutted with all the strict disapproval of a schoolmarm. "Then, later, I find her climbing the Wall, in fight with local children."

Napoleon nearly choked on his drink. The girl really did have a set on her sometimes.

"Had to pull her down before she gets herself killed. Shot, fall in minefield..."

"Well, you do know what that'd be like from personal experience," Napoleon couldn't help but point out.

Illya turned to him in exasperation, his irritation once again focusing on the American. "And you," the finger pointed again, "your influence is rubbing off on her!"

Napoleon rolled his eyes. Always Peril's scapegoat. "How so?"

"Letting her watch lewd films, teaching her course language-" he started.

"Like what?" Napoleon asked honestly. He let the film bit slide, maybe Peril had a point there, but he didn't recall teaching the girl curse words. Not intentionally at least.

"Wanker!" Illya barked, to inform and possibly to use in context. "I did not know its meaning at the time, but I knew it was not appropriate. Then I look up and find it means..." he made a quick hand gesture but couldn't say it.

"Peril, I'm American. That word is as British as the Queen, and I can guarantee you I have never used...'wanker' in any conversation I have ever had," although he had heard it used on multiple occasions by both Gaby and Waverly, but he didn't mention that. 

"It is all English," Illya sneered dismissively.

"Yes, but they are two countries separated by a common-" 

"Just know this," Illya warned, "she's my daughter, Cowboy, and I forbid you from making her into foul-mouthed brat."

"If you were there-" Napoleon felt the unintended effect of what he said before he even sees Illya's pained look. "Illya, I'm sorry, that's not what I meant...what I was trying to say is that it's normal for children her age to be a bit...rebellious. It doesn't mean she's a bad kid."

Illya cursed under his breath and waves him off, bracing his arms on the bureau.

"Peril...you know I've never been completely on-board with this arrangement," Illya turned ready to accost him again. Napoleon quickly continued, "and I know that my opinion doesn't matter, because she's not my kid...but I'm glad you got to meet her. While she's still a child at least."

That seemed to pacify him as his shoulders slumped and his anger gradually settled to reveal the true cause of his outburst; regret, pain and an inconsolable helplessness. Illya lowered himself slowly into an armchair, rubbing his face with his palms. 

"I did not think..." he murmured through his hands, "I always imagined her smaller, still not her own person, too young to remember anything..." Illya looked up at him, loneliness and exhaustion shadowing his eyes. "Now she is same age I was when...so I know she can remember and she'll remember I was not there. I did not exist."

"She'll understand someday..." Napoleon consoled.

"But what if she does not? What if she knows truth, everything, and still does not want to know me....continue on like she always has without me? Or what if she does not want to know the truth at all?"

Napoleon had no answer. They were questions he had considered himself many times. Gaby and Illya were going to allow their daughter to make her own decision about her relationship with her father when she came of age, and her decision could very well be one made out of rejection and resentment. Illya could be waiting year after year for a homecoming that would never come to pass, and Napoleon knew it would destroy him if it didn't.

It's a damn shame, Napoleon thought. All that discipline and loyalty that came so naturally to Illya would have translated well into fatherhood. He would have taken to it like a duck to water, but Ana's childhood was slipping away without Illya even having a chance to try. Soon she would be an adult, her own woman, and she will have gotten there without a father. There was a very real possibility she may feel she'll never need one.

"I hope she makes the right decision," Napoleon said softly 

Illya nodded and they sat in the comfortable silence that had developed between them throughout their unlikely friendship, each man lost in his own thoughts.

Checking his watch, Illya heaved a sigh and rose from his chair. He pulled sometime from the inner pocket of his jacket. Napoleon no longer tenses. It's been years since he has expected a gun to be pulled from that pocket.

"Here. For Gaby," Illya handed him an envelope, "I could not have it changed to sterling..."

"It's fine, Peril. I'll handle it." Napoleon said, taking the thick envelope.

"And this," handing him a thinner envelope, "I do not use names...but please do not-"

"I won't read it," Napoleon ensured. For a man approaching fifty, Illya could still play shy schoolboy surprisingly well.

Napoleon placed the envelopes in his suitcase and returned with his own, handing it to Illya.

"I'm sure these won't quite do her justice, now that you are better acquainted...but at least they won't run away or curse," he said, trying to make light of the photos. He always found these exchanges difficult, as though he is cruelly ripping open one of Illya's half-healed wounds to bleed once again. 

Illya didn't say anything and took the envelope, carefully considering it before placing it in his inner coat pocket.

"Thank you," he said, looking up.

"Don't mention it," Napoleon brushed it off.

"No, not for only this, but for Gaby and Ana," Illya confessed quietly, "none of this should have been your responsibility, I am indebted-"

"Don't go soft on me now Peril," he said amicably, slapping the man's shoulder, "it's been an honour...and besides, it's always nice to have a living, breathing reminder of why I should always be safe and make sure a little surprise doesn't happen to me too."

Illya huffed, with a rare, wry smile.

After the Russian man slipped quietly out of his quarters Napoleon was left with the same uncanny feeling he always has after their brief encounters; as though he had been visited by a spectral element of a past life. That his closest friend had ended up being a KGB agent with a heart of gold still perplexes him even after nearly twenty years. That he found himself invested in the life of his child is even more extraordinary. He just hopes one day Illya will somehow finally find peace with himself no matter the child's decision.  
____

Illya returned to his allocated flat, envelope intact, obsessively checking for bugs and cameras that may have been planted in his absence. He wonders if he'll ever see the day where he doesn't feel the need to check for surveillance in a room as casually as someone would turn on a lamp. 

Completing his inspection, Illya sat to open the envelope and review its contents. As he expected (and hoped) the envelope contained a few precious colour photographs. 

The girl he had met in Berlin smiled back at him in her smart school uniform, but now he can spot the spark of mischievousness that he had failed to see in all her previous photographs over the years. Cowboy was right; the photos didn't do her justice, he thought. There are photos of a beach holiday and a rare one of Gaby and their daughter together. Ana, distracted, is pointing and looking off frame while Gaby's brown eyes look straight into the lens. She wears a small secretive smile as though she knew the intended recipient of the image. He wants to fold it up and keep it in the pocket next to his chest forever. 

Illya pours over the photos for over an hour, hoping to etch every detail into his memory. When the sun threatens to come over the horizon, Illya drinks in the images once more before heading into the bathroom, his temporary joy shriveling to ash as each photograph burns in the sink, vanishing from existence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! It took me 7 months to update this, so many apologies to anyone who has been looking forward to further chapters (in my own defense I did move overseas to start a new job in the meantime so I didn't have much chance to dedicate myself to a series of fics!).
> 
> I have a better sense now of where this is going. I will write about I & A meeting again but there is going to be a few chapters in the interim just to explore this scenario as I am having quite a bit of fun writing it (mainly because of the angst...sorry characters...).
> 
> If there is anything in particular you'd like to see out of this series (aside from the reunion) please let me know, and thanks to all of you who read and commented as I know OC's aren't exactly a popular addition to fan fics so it's helpful to know at least someone aside from myself is enjoying this!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Napoleon faces interrogation

Ana Teller squinted at the code and tried to decipher its meaning. The scattering of birds, eyes, waves and cartouches looked more like an elaborate pattern than a line of script that could be read. Ana supposed that was why the Rosetta Stone was so important, as she stood before it in the British Museum. Without the stone, modern people may never have been able to decode the secrets of the ancients. Not that it helped her much. She still couldn't read hieroglyphics, even with all the time she had to study them while she waited for Uncle Napoleon who was once again charged with watching her for the weekend while he was in town from New York.

Ana liked the British Museum. It was her favourite place to go in the city. She especially liked to go with her uncle who would weave her tales about how many of the artifacts were stolen and how much they were worth. The Elgin Marbles he said, were some of the greatest stolen goods on the planet, so great that the British government simply refused to give them back to their rightful owner or admit any fault. Uncle Napoleon had seemed oddly envious.

Ana's favourite part this visit was the new medieval swords exhibit. Uncle Napoleon's favourite part was the unisex toilet, where he had gone to meet his 'friend' for the past twenty minutes. Sometimes Ana wondered who was babysitting who on these day trips. 

Finding Ana in front of the stone, Napoleon introduced her to his attractive blonde friend in a slightly disheveled dress.

"Bridgett, this is Ana Teller, my date for the afternoon," Napoleon winked. "Her mother is a close friend and occasionally I play au pair."

Ana politely shook the woman's manicured hand and resisted the urge to wipe her own hand on her trousers.

"You're very pretty," the woman cooed, as though a girl's looks were the most important thing in the world. "Does your mother have pretty blue eyes too?"

"No." Ana said flatly. 

"Hm," the woman hummed as she met Napoleon's pretty blue eyes with a slightly accusatory arch of an eyebrow. "Friends with her mother you said?"

Napoleon cleared his throat. "Friends, yes, and former colleagues."

"And her father?" the woman feigned to ask casually.

Her uncle gave the strained polite smile of someone wedged firmly between a rock and a hard place. "Also a friend," he said briskly before suggesting they move on to see some fine examples of Etruscan art.

Ana didn't miss the suspicious glance the woman shot her way before sashaying out of the gallery, nor did she miss the slight beading of perspiration on Uncle Napoleon's forehead and his own nervous eyes darting back at her. His agitation wasn't a result of his date's interrogation; Ana had seen him lie effortlessly to numerous dim women in her short years. No, he was worried that Ana had detected something, that maybe she had caught him telling the truth for once.

Following the pair up worn stone stairs, Ana decided tonight might be a good opportunity for an interrogation of her own.  
___

Napoleon collapsed on the couch at the Teller residence after spending the day chasing an eleven-year-old around London. Well...he had probably spent more energy chasing the thirty-one-year-old Bridgett around all day if he was being truthful. He wasn't as young as he used to be.

"Do you want a scotch?" his eleven-year-old charge asked from across the room.

"Your mother lets you have access to the liquor cabinet?" Napoleon asked over his shoulder, "and yes, please."

"Here you go." Ana said, moments later, as she presented him with a crystal tumbler that was filled nearly to the rim with scotch.

"You sure know how to treat a man," Napoleon said as he took a quick sip before the liquor could spill over the edge. "Want a nip?" he asked.

Ana took a hesitant sip and scrunched up her face in pain.

"That's retched!" she coughed.

"It'll put hair on your chest," Napoleon smiled before he leaned back on the couch and flipped on the television. Ana settled herself in the armchair.

Napoleon enjoyed these evenings with just him and the girl. He wasn't the domestic type, and truth be told there were far more entertaining things to do while in London, but for at least an evening he could bask in the what-could-have-been. A sample of the life of a father if he had ever been so lucky...or unlucky, he supposed. 

He also enjoyed being able to give Gaby a much needed weekend away. It hadn't been easy on her, raising a child on her own, and Napoleon was happy to help when he could. From the beginning he had been willing to do as much as possible for his friends and their difficult predicament. Napoleon had even made the mistake of innocently suggesting that he step in as a foster father for the girl. Peril had nearly thrown him through a window for that. They had settled on unrelated uncle from there and it has worked out famously, all things considered.

The warmth of the scotch spread in Napoleon's chest and he felt the tension in his muscles ease as he sunk into the couch. Ana sat in her chair, swinging her dangling legs as she watched television. 

"So, how did you like Bridgett?" Napoleon asked, thinking of the woman's lips.

"She seemed pretty stupid," Ana said matter-off-factly, eyes never leaving the television screen.

"What makes you think that?" Napoleon said indignantly. Not that he cared about the insult to Bridgett, but it reflected poorly on him; he liked to think he still attracted the best women.

"She thought Gaul was in the South Pacific," Ana looked over at him. "She thought Gaul was Guam."

"Well not everyone can be a geography expert at eleven," Napoleon huffed.

"She's thirty-one," Ana pointed out.

Maybe there was some truth to Peril's accusations of Ana being a bit of a brat, he thought to himself. "Speaking of geography and lack of intelligence," Napoleon shot back, slightly annoyed, "I heard you got quite a good grasp of the landscape of Berlin when you went wandering about alone there a few weeks ago."

Ana shifted in her seat, a scowl forming on her face.

"Heard you met some of the locals. Even got in a bit of a tiff," Napoleon chuckled to himself. "I'm sure your mother wasn't pleased with that. How long _were_ you grounded? Two...three weeks?"

"Shut up," Ana grumbled, a blush creeping up her cheeks. She looked like she wanted to flip the coffee table.

Napoleon liked the girl; loved her like family in fact, but sometimes she would brood and sulk in a way that was so uncannily like his former Russian colleague that he found her presence unnerving. Every time he was around her he was afraid he would say something that would betray the secret that Illya and Gaby were so desperate to keep. A secret that, if exposed, would almost certainly get the child kidnapped, murdered or worse. 

Napoleon let the minutes tick by when the news came on. He took a large sip of the scotch. It was making him feel bold. He shouldn't ask...

"Did you meet anyone else on your expedition?" he asked carefully.

Ana shrugged. "Not really."

Napoleon couldn't help but feel disappointed. Illya had had his world shaken to its foundations after their serendipitous meeting in the split city. Napoleon had felt the man's turmoil and agony acutely the night they had briefly met to discuss it. He doubts a day has gone by that Peril hadn't thought about their chance encounter; analyzing every word that was exchanged, the meaning behind every look. It was all he would have to live with for another ten or more years.

Ana, on the other hand, hadn't the slightest idea who the man in Berlin was and their meeting seemed to have quickly vanished from her memory. He had been a good Samaritan, helping a lost child in the city, but certainly not someone who had any great impact on her life.

Napoleon's melancholy spread as he nursed his scotch. It was all so very unfair, he thought. No father should have to watch his child grow up from afar, unable to interact with her on even the most casual basis for fear she'd be used as a political pawn. No daughter should be left in the dark with no explanation as to who her father was or where he was. 

He gave a heavy sigh.

"Are you feeling okay?" Ana asked. 

"I'm fine...just a little buzzed." he explained. He forced his eyes open with wide blinks. This was some strong scotch.

Ana turned back to the TV. 

He focused on the screen as well, hoping the moving images and the story of these hapless hostages in Iran would keep his mind off the turmoil in his personal life. Not even _his_ personal life, he huffed with a breath that quickly turned into a yawn. He felt himself melting into the couch which suddenly felt like a cloud. His eyes shut. He has been here before...

"You said you were friends," Ana Teller, who now sat on the coffee table directly in front of him, addressed him with serious eyes.

"What?" Napoleon mumbled in confusion as he tried to blink away the blurriness in his vision.

"Today that woman asked about my father," Ana explained, "and you said you were friends, and for once you weren't lying."

Napoleon tried to sit up, rubbing his eyes. "You should really be getting to bed," he deflected, "it's late."

"Please," she whispered, pushing him back down onto the couch, "I just want to know something, anything..."

Through the fog he can see her large eyes and trembling bottom lip. It's a wonder that no one has ever figured out to use children when interrogating him. So far this method was much more effective than electro-shocks.

"We...we were friends, yes," Napoleon sighed, his voice sounding miles away, "very unlikely friends. All three of us."

"You met him at work too?" Ana asked, barely able to conceal her excitement at gaining some information.

He groggily recovered the memory of Illya tearing off the back of Gaby's car in East Berlin.

"Something like that," Napoleon cracked a lop-sided smile. 

"Am I like him?" she continued, producing her own small smile that drifted in and out of his vision.

"Sometimes..." he murmured softly, "there are moments and it's like he's here..." 

"Right now?" she wondered, looking down as though she's expecting to find an adult man.

"This," he said, gesturing weakly to the drink, the couch and Ana's interrogative stare, "reminds me of someone I met...many years ago..." 

Her brow furrowed in confusion. He knows the feeling all too well in the moment.

"Is he still alive?" she asked barely above a whisper, the television's light illuminating her left cheek. 

"Yes," Napoleon slurred truthfully. 

"Then he just doesn't want anything to do with me..." the girl sighed, looking away.

"No ss-not it," the couch was swallowing him, "Ana...?"

"What's his name?" she asked in earnest.

His eyelids flutter, dragged down with the force of an anchor. 

"Uncle Napoleon, what's his name?!"

 _Peril?_ The Russian's heavily lashed eyes stared at him before he surrendered to a syrupy thick sleep.  
___

Her uncle was out for the count. He snored softly from the couch, his dark hair falling over his perspiring forehead. She got up and took the tumbler from his limp hand before it could spill on the carpeting. 

She hadn't intended for him to pass out like that. It usually takes three sleeping tablets for her mother to get drowsy enough to lie down for the night. Two tablets make her relaxed and maybe just a bit loopy. Certainly more willing to speak her mind without her normal reserve. 

Apparently two crushed tablets in alcohol is a bit much for someone without a built-up tolerance. She had hoped it would work like the truth serum she had read about in one of her comic books. It had in a way...certainty not for long enough though.

But he had spoken. Her uncle had known her father, and she was like him! And more than just her colouring, which she knew she didn't get from her mother. Uncle Napoleon had said it was like he was here sometimes, meaning she acted like him. How? she wondered. Did she speak like him, smile like him? Did they have the same laugh? There were so many more questions she would have liked to have asked.

He had said her father is still alive, which she always supposed was true. Why not tell her he was dead if he was? Hearing the confirmation that he was alive and well, however, wasn't the relief that she had expected it to be. If anything, she felt a little empty inside. He was alive and out there somewhere, but didn't want to meet her. _'That's not it'_ , her uncle had tried to say. She huffed a sigh. Sure seemed like it...

She looked over at her uncle, snoozing peacefully on the couch, if a little unnaturally deep. She wouldn't get anymore out of him tonight. Ana walked over to her uncle and snapped her fingers a few times in front of his face. He didn't even react, only continuing with his crackling snore.

It looked like she would be on her own for the rest of the night. The house to herself. She looked at the staircase. Surely there would be no harm if...?

She covered her uncle with a crocheted blanket and headed for the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Napoleon Solo, CIA super spy, roofied by an eleven-year-old.
> 
> Rohypnol/Flunitrazepam is actually intended to treat severe insomnia but its active ingredient, benzodiazepine, has hypnotic qualities making it useful as a truth serum. The more you know...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaby has a rendezvous abroad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Gaby POV because I felt bad that I have been ignoring her quite a bit in this fic.

Gaby was being followed.

She knew she had a tail ever since she left the second small pub she had visited that evening, nestled along the waterfront of Malmö. She had been followed into the third, left in peace at the bar as she nursed yet another akvavit. Stepping back out into the night, she wrapped her coat more tightly around herself to fight off the brutal easterly wind from the Baltic. The sound of her heels clicking against the cobblestones reverberated through the empty streets, only accompanied by a distant buoy on the harbour. She couldn't hear the steps behind her but she was acutely aware of the presence nonetheless.

The patient dance with her pursuer throughout the city confirmed that tonight was just a duet. They hadn't been joined by anyone else. She feelt the tension ebb from her body, replaced with a sense of anticipation that excited and irritated her both. The akvavit certainly wouldn't help her keep the cool demeanor she had planned to emanate.

Gaby fiddled with the keys in her coat pocket when she reaches the small stone townhouse where she had been residing for the weekend. She unlatched the creaking wooden door and slipped inside, latching the lock back into place. Removing her coat, hat and gloves she headed toward the back of the home and its warm kitchen. She lit one of the burners on the stove and placed a kettle on top. As she waited for the water to boil, she removed the deadbolt from the back door leading out to the home's small garden and leaves it just ajar.

Returning to the kettle, she prepared two cups of tea when she heard heavy steps on the kitchen tile and the door close softly behind her.

" _Привет_."

" _Guten Abend_." she responded, turning to see Illya, fresh out of the cold and stoic as ever.

"You came," he said, voice even and betraying no emotion.

She shrugged as she brought the cups of hot tea over to the kitchen table. She doesn't know why she always finds herself here. Not the location specifically, but some old safe-house in some foreign country with the same Russian agent. Especially how things had ended last time, she's surprised she even opened his letter, much less showed up to his proposed rendezvous. Apparently he is surprised as well.

He removed his coat and joined her at the table. He murmured a quick " _Спасибо_ ," as he took the cup from her. She's quick to remove her hand when his fingers briefly brush against her own.

"In your letter you said you had something to speak with me about," she began, wanting to get straight to it, and added, "I know you met Ana, I did see you..."

He hesitated. He knew he broke their one rule, possibly endangered their child but he wasn't sure what her reaction would be. Gaby was fully aware she held all the power there.

"I did, briefly," he confessed, "because I was concerned for her safety," he was brave enough to meet her eyes with a flash of reproof, "but I did not reveal myself and our conversation was...superficial."

"Well, she seemed rather taken with you when she returned," Gaby couldn't help but admit to him. She had been rather touched by it herself, even through her irritation at their misbehaviour.

She didn't miss the twitch of a smile he gave while he fiddled with his tea cup. There was still an undertone of anxiety radiating from him, however, that had nothing to do with his meeting with Ana. "But that's not what you brought me here to speak about," she stated.

"No...I mean, I want you to know, yes, and it was not my intention to interfere," he swallowed, tripping over his English words, so rarely used nowadays, "but I wanted to tell you..."

She raised her brows at his hesitation. She wanted to say they didn't have all night but they do, so she let him squirm.

"I wanted to tell you that I-we, have separated," he said quickly, raising his eyes from the tea to meet hers.

Gaby felt her heart skip in her chest but quickly recovered before her face can betray her visceral reaction to the news. "That's none of my business," she snapped.

"It is something you should know."

"No, it's not, because what difference does it make? It doesn't change anything." She couln't help but feel defensive around the subject.

"Maybe not, but it has been issue with us and I wanted you to know," he said honestly.

She sighed and relented. He had a point.

Four years ago when he had told her he was to be married she had acted out with such an irrational fury she had threatened to cut him off from all information regarding Ana. Even as she loathed the words coming out of her mouth she couldn't help but imagine Illya together with another woman, raising a family that he was present for, casting his unwanted love child aside. He had insisted he would never do that. That it wasn't a love match. That she was a young widow in need and he had to quell suspicions. Gaby only heard excuses for his betrayal and rejection.

With time she had come around, of course, allowing him to see his daughter from a distance on a yearly basis and, eventually, meet with Gaby in some far-off locale. Her disgust at being the other woman, however, always got the best of her and their time together usually ended with a row of cheap insults and empty threats. Their last encounter had been particularly bad and she had limited her contact with him ever since. 

Now he was sitting across from her confessing that his marriage had been a failure and she found no joy in it. She knew that he had been lonely and isolated, how could he not have been? She felt the same pang every time she thought of him, but unlike Illya, she had the comfort of their daughter. Illya had had no one, and now, he was alone again.

"I'm sorry," she said, and she meant it. Not only for his plight, but for the way she had punished him over the years. "And I'm not upset about you and Ana," she continued, "I'm happy you met her."

He nodded and held her gaze. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks and before she could let the tension stretch out between them, she stood to collect his tea cup. As she reached he gently took her wrist, letting his callused thumb run along her pulse there. Her rational mind chided her to pull away but her baser instincts allow her fingers to slip into his hand while his other rose to ghost along her waist.

"I have missed this," he murmured softly.

He didn't need to elaborate, she knew what 'this' means. Their stolen moments together over the years, when they could pretend they had the freedom that most people took for granted. She'd be lying to herself if she said she didn't often fantasize about how it might have been. Sharing a home. Having dinner every evening, just the three of them. Quietly making love after their daughter had gone to sleep. Even bickering over bills and chores like a normal couple. No spies, no missiles, no petty governments. Just a man and a woman and their child, blissfully ignored by the rest of the world.

"So have I," she whispered, and the admission is a weight lifted from her chest. 

"I have missed you." 

With his eyes lifting from the hand at her waist to her own, she felt her remaining reserve crumble, as it had so many times in the past with him. 

And just like before, she tugged his hand to join her, the consequences be damned.

"Come."  
___

A large cool hand brushed softly against the warmth of her stomach, awakening her from her half-sleep. That's something that hasn't changed at least, she thought. His hands always held a chill, as though Russia refused to relinquish its hold on him, mind and body both. His long fingers traced the small jagged lines running down the sides of her abdomen, the thicker scar lower down.

"Stop," she batted his hand away in irritation, pulling the sheet up to cover herself, "It can't be helped."

What did he expect? A woman of her stature had no business carrying and attempting to birth a nearly ten pound baby. If it had been one hundred years prior she would've died, the bastard. Eleven years later and she still looks like she'd been mauled by a wild cat.

"I was not complaining," he said, voice thick with sleep, hand sliding under the sheet to settle back on her stomach.

He always had a knack for melting away her self-consciousness. She considered herself in fairly good physique for her age but she was certainly no longer the lithe ballerina that Napoleon Solo had found in an East German chop shop sixteen years ago. It never seemed to matter to Illya though, who still touched her bare skin with the same reverence he had when adjusting her tracker on their very first mission.

"Good," she sighed blissfully as his hand trailed across her, "because it's your fault."

"Hmm," he hummed into her hair, "I recall you being very willing participant."

She refused to reward his cockiness when his hand slipped lower, lifting herself to push his shoulders against the bed. He fell back willingly with a small huff and a look of mock reproach. She planted herself on her elbows to look at him, something she hadn't been able to do in what felt like a lifetime.

In the grey moonlight filtering into the room she could almost fool herself into thinking he was thirty again, looking at her through the window of his loitering Trabant on the dark streets of East Berlin. If someone had told her that night that someday she'd come to love and even have a child with the agent sent to hunt her down she would have knocked their teeth out. What a fool she had been. What a fool she was now, she thought ruefully. Always too stubborn to learn her lesson, and her she was, doing the exact thing that got her into all this trouble in the first place.

He lifted his hand to toy with a strand of her hair, his face gone soft and pensive.

She prodded his side with her finger, encouraging him to speak his mind.

"I have bought something, for Ana," he said slowly, acutely aware that he may cross a line at any moment. "I was hoping you could give it to her."

Gaby felt her protective instinct prickle at the back of her neck. "What is it?" she asked, wanting to give him a chance to explain his idea.

"A camera," he said. "She had yours, when I spoke to her, said she enjoyed photography. She is not too young to have her own. Use it, develop photos, so on. You can say it is your gift," he offered, his eyes meeting hers and she could see what it meant to him.

She had nothing physical of Illya in her possession, except his bugged ring which she had angrily buried in one of her drawers years ago, but which she hadn't had the heart to discard. His rare letters were quickly burned and photos were too much of a liability. It would be nice to have something to give to Ana, even if she didn't know who it was from.

"That should be fine," she permitted, then considered, "is it...?"

"Not Soviet," he said quickly, "German. West German."

"Only the best then," she smiled, and is rewarded with the eye roll that was typically reserved for Solo.

Gaby stretched along his side. "I wonder what they're up to," she sighed.

"Cowboy and Ana?"

She nodded against his chest, enjoying the solid warmth of him.

"Probably watching film not intended for eleven-year-old," he muttered, then added, "I wish you did not leave her with him."

"What films?" Gaby asked, prodding him again.

"James Bond, and the one where girl gets possessed by demons," he yawned, rubbing his face with his hand.

" _The Exorcist_!?"

"Yes." 

" _Arschloch_. I specifically told him not to do that!" she grumbled. "Now I know why she insisted on sleeping in my bed for over a week..."

"I would never have allowed that," he claimed, running a hand down her side.

"Please, you would be sleeping in a chair next to the door in her room if she demanded it," she laughed.

"Hmm," he didn't even consider arguing. He knew she is right. "I would want to be there to protect her."

The thought sobers her. "You will someday," she whispered. The decision was not hers, and she shouldn't promise, but she hoped.

He rolled onto his side, pulling her against him in the darkness.

"And to be with you," he murmured, words she thought she'd never hear from him again.

"That is something you still want?" she asked, needing to hear his confirmation.

"Yes," he answered, pulling her more tightly against him.

She smiled. Suddenly that was a distant possibility again. Even the faintest glimmer of hope was better than the loneliness she has resigned herself to over the past several years. 

"Me too," she returned. She could end up waiting for the rest of her life, but at least she'd know he'd be there waiting too, on the other side.

___

The next day she boarded a plane to London with a camera tucked in her bag and a sense of hopefulness she hadn't experienced since she left East Germany nearly twenty years ago. 

It could all be for naught, she tried to remind herself, but with Ana nearly breaching young adulthood, Illya unhindered by marriage and the Cold War thawing in the decade long détente she couldn't help but see their once impossible dream becoming a real, if distant, reality. 

She allowed herself to bask in the possibility throughout the flight, her head in the clouds literally and figuratively, anxious to return to her daughter whose future suddenly seemed much brighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't planned on having this chapter but I really wanted to be able to explore the relationship between Illya/Gaby over the last 10+ years, or at least give a sense of what it has been like.
> 
> Also: pillow talk is my favourite in other fics, so tried it out in my own.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ana receives a gift. Gaby is faced with questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is long and should probably be two, but it's mostly dialogue. More notes at bottom...

Ana had given up waiting for a cooked breakfast and sat with her bowl of cereal at the kitchen table. Some moments later her uncle came trudging into the kitchen, dark hair disheveled, skin sallow and rubbing his neck.

"Good morning!" Ana said cheerily. 

Her uncle gave an unintelligible mumble before opening the freezer to remove a pack of frozen peas. He slowly lowered himself into the seat across from her and gingerly applied the pack to his forehead.

"Sleep well?" Ana asked, knowing full-well he had spent the night drugged in the living room, neck bent awkwardly over the arm of the couch. It was sweet revenge for making her share their day together with boring Bridgett.

Napoleon lowered the pack and stared at her beneath his brows.

"Terribly, thank you," he croaked out.

"There's eggs, sausage and streaky bacon in the refrigerator if you want it. Maybe some black pudding-" she tormented.

Her uncle raised his hand to make her stop speaking while the other delicately covered his mouth. 

She smirked behind her spoon. It was not only fun to watch her typically suave, cocky uncle look so much worse for the wear but she could still hardly believe she had finally gotten some information out of him regarding her father.

What her uncle had said to her had made her father real. Of course, she knew she had an actual father, just like everyone else on the planet, but now he was tangible. He was an actual flesh and blood person who had known her mother and her uncle, had relationships and conversations with them. He was no longer some distant enigma with no tie to reality, and when you are a real person you have things, you leave things, like photographs and notes. It had never occurred to Ana to search for this evidence before because it never seemed like it could have been a possibility.

After her uncle had passed out last night she had ascended the stairs to investigate her mother's room.

She had opened her mother's wardrobe and pulled out the boxes where she knew her mother kept photographs and albums. Most of the photos were of her. Dozens of Ana as an infant, dressed in various stupid little outfits. One of her swaddled up in her mother's arms, another of her as a toddler on Mr. Waverly's knee. Ana had flipped by them. How can someone find a baby so interesting?

She had dug to the back of the wardrobe, searching for anything that may have been shoved behind in secret. She pushed the clothing aside, surprised to find her mother owned several designer, if dated, dresses that must've cost a fortune back in the day. She had emptied drawers, searched inside shoe boxes, looked for anything that might hint at a hidden life or secret romance. 

It had ended up her mother's room was as thoroughly boring as she would have predicted it to be before her conversation with her uncle. To her disappointment, she had come up empty handed. 

_Well, almost_ , she thought as she idly toyed with the smooth silver on her neck. 

Just before giving up on the final drawer, Ana had grabbed a wadded scarf in the far corner. Her fingers had enclosed around something small and hard within the bundled fabric. Curious, Ana unraveled the scarf, revealing an unusual ring on a plain silver necklace. It appeared to be a black pearl, likely fake upon Ana's inspection, surrounded by a sunburst of small diamonds. She had never seen her mother wear the piece before as she surely would have remembered it. She had liked it for whatever reason.

Ana concluded it was likely just a piece of costume jewelry her mother has misplaced and forgotten. No harm in her wearing it then, Ana had supposed. It's not like her mother would notice it was missing. As she had put the necklace over her head she decided it was still best to be kept hidden anyway; her mother wouldn't appreciate knowing Ana had gone through her things. So she stuffed it down her collar and shirt where it was safely kept from view but where she could still feel the weight of the ring against her sternum. 

She had kept it on all night and still wore it under today's outfit. She liked having it. It felt like for once she was the one with the secret that no one knew about.

"So what are the plans for today?" Ana asked her uncle with a smile.

"Sit. With the shades closed. Until your mother comes home," he said slowly and hoarsely.

Ana frowned. Well that's no fun...  
__

Arriving at Heathrow, Gaby was struck with nostalgia, as she always was in the airport, for her former life. There was nothing like returning back home after a successful mission, surrounded by hundreds of people who hadn't the slightest idea of what you had been up to whilst abroad. 

Gaby only began to feel like she was returning to reality when she entered her cab and gave the driver her home address in her very ordinary neighbourhood.

She was no longer a spy, despite having felt like one again for the weekend. Her days in spy craft had come to an end when she became a mother. She had already been guilty of keeping a father out of her life, she certainly wasn't about to leave Ana an orphan like she had been. Luckily with her connection to Waverly and her personal and professional background, she easily segued into a career with the Foreign Office as an analyst. It wasn't as exciting on paper, but at least she knew she would be there for her child.

Pulling up to her residence Gaby was glad to see the house looked intact, despite Illya's prediction that Napoleon and Ana would burn it down in her absence. She unlocked the door and entered the foyer, satisfied to see there was no evidence of empty liquor bottles or half-naked waitresses wandering around the house.

Her daughter appeared at the top of the stairs smiling, before careening full speed toward her mother and colliding with her in a hug by the front door.

"What did you bring me?!" she asked earnestly. 

"Who says I brought you anything!" Gaby laughed. 

"You always bring me something!" she claimed. 

Gaby smiled and kissed the top of her head. "In a moment. Where's your uncle?" she asked.

"He's hungover in the living room." Ana said matter-of-factly.

"Of course he is..." Gaby mumbled. 

Gaby walked into the living room to see her erstwhile colleague spread out on the couch, throw pillow over his face. "Welcome home," he said, voice muffled below the pillow.

Striding over to the corpse on the couch, Gaby whipped the pillow off his face. "Get up, you're helping me with dinner," she said without an ounce of sympathy, despite his dramatic groan.

In the kitchen Gaby relegated Napoleon to chopping vegetables, while Ana practically bounced with anticipation for her gift. Gaby retrieved the plain brown box from her bag and placed on the table. "Go ahead," she said to Ana who viewed the box skeptically. She popped the top off and removed the bubble paper before looking up at Gaby in disbelief.

"Is this real?!" she exclaimed.

Gaby smiled and nodded at Ana. 

"You're not pissing about?!" 

"Ana!" Gaby scorned. 

"Sorry, but is this really mine?" she asked, still in shock.

Gaby couldn't stay annoyed. Not with the look of delight on her daughter's face at Illya's gift. "It's really yours," she smiled.

Ana shrieked with excitement, making Napoleon wince. She rounded the table to give her mother a hug. 

"Thank you!" she repeated no less than ten times, muffled into Gaby's shirt.

Gaby only smiled and hugged back, although for her the moment was bittersweet. It wasn't Gaby Ana should be thanking.

"Can I go outside and try it?" her daughter asked

"Yes, but just for a bit. Dinner will be ready soon and it's getting dark."

Ana smiled and grabbed the camera and one of the film cartridges before rushing out of the room. Gaby made sure she heard the front door close. Ana had developed an annoying habit lately of lurking around corners, and she wanted to speak with Napoleon in private.

"Things must be going well salary-wise at the Foreign Office. A camera?" Napoleon asked skeptically. He always accused Gaby of being too cheap with Ana and with just about everything else. 

"Not my gift," she said with a shrug.

"You mean...?" Napoleon asked without asking.

"He wanted to, and I let him," she said. 

Napoleon gave a pleased hum. He always liked when Gaby let her guard down a little on the Illya front.

"How is our mutual friend by the way?" Napoleon asked as he transferred the vegetables to the waiting pot.

Gaby felt her lips turn to a small private smile. "I think things will be better between us from here on out," she said.

Napoleon turned. "Meaning?" he asked. Her former partner was fully aware of the sometimes volatile nature of her and Illya's relationship since he had admitted to marrying someone else.

"Things ended, I guess. I didn't ask for the details. I don't think I had the right to," she answered. 

Napoleon nodded, but even Gaby could see that he too was somewhat pleased with the news. 

"How were things here," Gaby asked as she took a block of cheese from the refrigerator. "Did Ana behave herself? I know you didn't..." she added, giving him a chiding look.

Napoleon was silent for a moment. "I may have said something I shouldn't have..." he began.

Gaby stopped slicing the cheese, knife still in hand. "What do you mean?" she asked sharply. 

"Last night, we were here, at the house, and I was just having a drink," he said, and at her eye roll he emphasised, "One drink...and suddenly everything was foggy and she asked something about her father and-"

"And?!" Gaby barked.

"I didn't say anything really, I don't think," he said as Gaby sighed, "but I may have confirmed that I knew who he was and that we were friends at some point."

"Napoleon!" Gaby chastised, although she was relieved to hear he didn't drunkenly reveal everything.

"It's not my fault...I think...I think she drugged me," he said slowly, brows furrowed. 

"Oh, come off it Napoleon, she's eleven!" Gaby exclaimed, one hand on her cocked hip.

"I have been drugged before...several times actually. I am familiar with the sensation," he pointed out.

"You get drunk and can't keep your mouth shut and then your excuse is that my daughter is...Victoria Vinciguerra! Evil mastermind...at eleven!" Gaby laughed, stuffing a piece of cheese in her mouth. "You used to be good at lying you know," she said pointing a bread stick at him.

"Regardless," Napoleon said, sounding more serious than she had heard him in years, "she's not a toddler anymore, she knows she is being left in the dark. I think you owe her some type of explanation."

"Napoleon, you know it's not that simple-" Gaby said in exasperation. 

"But if you just tell her where he is and why he can't be here with you right now, then she'll-"

"Then she'll what?!" Gaby snapped, "Let slip to the wrong person at the wrong time that her father is Soviet? Not only that but KGB?! She'll disappear one day, for ransom or information or punishment, possibly end up tortured or dead or both but at least _your_ conscience will be clear!" Gaby nearly shouted, her hands shaking.

Napoleon opened his mouth to respond, when they heard the front door open.

"She's my daughter," Gaby warned lowly, "stay out of it."  
_

After dinner, Ana wished her uncle goodbye, not unaware of the tension that had developed between him and her mother since she returned to the house. She couldn't help but feel somewhat responsible for whatever reason they were feuding.

Her mother buried herself in her bills and post at the kitchen table after Ana cleared the dishes. 

Ana joined her mother to tinker with her new camera. As she went to set the camera down on the table she knocked over one of the film cartridge containers, setting it rolling along the kitchen table. Ana lunged across the surface to grab it before it could tumble over the edge. The horizontal movement caused the heavy ring on her necklace to fall out of her button-up shirt and swing from her neck. 

Looking up from her chequebook her mother's eyes were quick to notice the new bauble her daughter now sported. The woman never missed anything.

"Where did you find that?" she asked, a barb of irritation pricking her voice.

Ana knew she couldn't lie her way out of this. Her mother's expression told her she knew exactly where Ana had found it and was setting a trap to see whether her daughter would be dishonest.

"I found it in a drawer in your room," she answered, preparing herself to get in deep trouble.

"And why were you in my room?" her mother asked.

"I was looking for photos," Ana said honestly.

"Photos of what?"

Ana swallowed. She needed to be brave now or she would never have the courage to have this conversation ever again.

"My father," she said, and then, because she didn't want to hear her mother's reprimands or excuses, or maybe just because she couldn't contain herself anymore, she rambled on. "Uncle Napoleon told me last night that he knew my father and that you all used to be friends and I thought that maybe somewhere in your things you'd have a picture of him and I could see what he looked like-"

"Ana..." her mother began.

"-or I could find out where he is or why he left because I don't know anything!" Ana nearly shouted the last word and she was ashamed she heard a tremble in her voice. She always wanted stay in-control like her mother, who now sat so composed and contemplative after her daughter's outburst.

Gaby considered a moment before speaking. "When I was a little younger than you are now my father left me in Berlin without so much as a 'goodbye' and no explanation as to where he was going," her mother said, with only a hint of sadness in her voice. "He was selfish and he was a coward and by the time I saw him again I was an adult and I didn't want him in my life no matter how many excuses he could have come up with for why he left me behind." 

Ana sat dumbfounded. She had never heard this story before. She knew her mother had been raised by a foster family, but she never knew the circumstances that had brought her there. 

"So I know how you feel because I felt the same way," she continued, "But unlike my father, your father loves you very much and has sacrificed a great deal for you, even if you can't see that now. He wants nothing more than to be here if he could."

"I still don't understand..." Ana said in exasperation.

"I know _Liebling_ , but you will someday. When you are older and ready I will tell you everything and you'll understand."

Ana wasn't so sure about that. She didn't see why she couldn't just hear the truth now when she was more than old enough to understand that her father was missing without explanation. She knew there was no use arguing with her mother on this, though. She had erected a wall, several layers thick and fiercely guarded, that Ana could never hope to see around or over, no matter what she asked or demanded of her mother.

Ana nodded and bit her lower lip. Impulsively, her hand came up to fiddle with the ring on her necklace.

Her mother reached out to touch the thin silver chain at her neck. For one terrifying moment Ana was afraid her mother was going to violently rip the necklace from around her throat. Then to Ana's surprise, her mother's face softened in the minutest way. She considered the ring for a moment and let it slip through her fingers to drop back against Ana's chest.

"Keep it," she said. "But don't lose it," her mother warned, "I mean it."

Ana shook her head frantically, still scarcely believing she made it out of this situation without a scolding, much less with another present. 

"It's getting late," her mother said, "go get ready for bed."

Ana gathered her things and headed upstairs, her opportunity to learn more about her father having passed and leaving her more confused and frustrated than she had been before. She wondered how many years it will be before her mother will reveal the truth.  
__

Gaby cracked the door of Ana's room, opening it slowly and quietly.

In the dim yellow glow of the street light coming through the window, Gaby could see her daughter sound asleep, her new camera perched on the nightstand beside the bed. 

As her eyes adjusted to the dark, Gaby could just make out the glint of silver on Ana's neck. She had never considered herself a superstitious person, (she had always needed to be much too practical for that nonsense), but she could almost convince herself that Ana finding the ring wasn't anything but fate. Maybe, Gaby secretly hoped, the ring would act as a talisman to bring Ana back to her father. It was a silly thought, one that she would never voice out loud, but Gaby was happy to latch onto anything that could guarantee that her daughter would one day be reunited with Illya and that they would both forgive her for the decisions she had made to protect them.

Time would tell whether Gaby had made the correct decision. Time and Ana, who would someday pass judgement on Gaby's imposed sacrifices and determine their consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't the end!!!
> 
> The next part of this series takes place several years in the future when Ana is a young adult (and yes, Ana will finally reunite with her father).
> 
> Next part: [Reunification](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7479690/chapters/16999185)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has liked/commented on this fic, it has really encouraged me to buckle down and get it finished. As I have mentioned before, I know fics revolving around OC's (and child characters at that) aren't very popular so I really appreciate anyone who gave this work a chance as I hoped to make a little different from what you were probably expecting. Please let me know what you did/did not like so I can adjust accordingly moving forward. Comments are always appreciated!


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